


Tally Marks

by Cuddlebug1603



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: An equal mix of both Prinxiety and Logicality, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hardly any though, Hope you like it!, Light Angst, Logicality being sweet and pure, M/M, Old Writing Reposted, Prinxiety being idiots and dramatic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22081957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuddlebug1603/pseuds/Cuddlebug1603
Summary: On a lazy weekend in the mind palace, an extraordinary truth is revealed to a certain reformed-dark side; he has a Tally Mark. Shocking though it is, a few of his friends are experiencing the exact same ordeal. Others remain oblivious.There's a mystery to solve, feelings to unravel, and more than a few conversations which are long overdue.Inspired by an AU.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 25
Kudos: 79





	1. I Fell For a Prince, Apparently

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning(s): Anxiety Attack

Sunlight poured through the open window. Virgil's typical gloom-ridden space felt calm and spacious, the striking decorations forgotten in their anxiety-inducing ways. His spidery curtains, for instance, were drawn wide, graciously revealing a clear sky. The aforementioned light shone directly onto the nightstand next to the bed, holding a few picture frames and a phone with the dark trait's usual morning alarm.

Except his alarm didn't ring. It was finally the weekend.

His body urged him to get up. Grunting, Virgil pulled his comfortable sheets away, pushing himself upright. When he checked his phone, he smiled a bit to himself. 

12:00. That's one of the better sleeps he's had in a while. Even better; Thomas, after a quick check of the calendar, didn't have anything planned for today, and no big projects or videos to stress out over. Virgil glanced at his pillow, the indent of his head and body still warm and inviting. But, he ultimately decided against it. A nice day of relaxation could do him some good, and he already had gotten a lot of sleep.

Standing and popping his neck, Virgil started decided on a shower. He was hungry, so he needed to take a shower before he put on makeup. He might even try something new, like add a pop of color, or eyeliner.

The hot water woke him, wafts of steam calming him more every minute he spent under the water, humming a few songs.

Virgil dried his hair, face, and neck before wrapping the towel around his waist. He reached for his makeup case, unlatching it without thinking about it and rustling around for the liquid foundation. Locating the bottle, Virgil squeezed a small glob of the pale stuff onto the brush, holding the bristles to his cheek and-

His eyebrows furrowed as something on his face caught his eye. Underneath his light bangs on the upper right corner of his forehead, he could just make out a diagonal black line, about a centimeter wide and an inch in length.

' _That's...weird_.' Virgil lowered the brush, lifting his mop of purple hair. The rigid mark shone darker than coal, putting his usual eyeliner to shame. 

Could it have been...one of Patton's pranks? Maybe he'd come into Virgil's room, drew a line on his face with sharpie, and panicked when he'd started to wake up. While pondering this strange turn of events, Virgil absentmindedly plucked a makeup wipe from open package and tried scrubbing the ink off his skin.

It didn't budge. So what was it? Virgil tried vaguely to remember a mind-numbing lecture from Logan about weird black marks, or scars, or something like that from when Thomas was a teenager. It looked and sounded so frustratingly familiar to him-

He grinned, the memory finally clicking. No, it wasn't pocket-protector's speech he was thinking of; it was _Princey's_. Christ, it'd been a long time, but he could still almost hear how it always went...

_"Are you telling me, the Prince, the representation of all your hopes and dreams, that you're not seeing what I'm seeing?!"_ _Roman's voice screeched, in the way that meant, good grief, this was happening again. "Thomas, come to your senses! You are practically an adult, and therefore can accomplish anything in regards to your love life."_

_Virgil rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to argue, but Roman just ignored him as usual whenever this particular subject came up.  
_

_"The line-" The Prince pointed excitedly at the mark halfway up Thomas' forearm, "-is black! He is obviously-"_

" _Your true love!_ " Virgil mocked the royal's youthful excitement, standing to his fullest height and raising his foundation brush to the ceiling flamboyantly, a stupid grin on his face as the memory fully resurfaced after all these years. " _You must embark on these emotions, and let them whisk you away to your destiny, your happily ever after with the man you_ -"

Virgil froze. His reflection in the mirror looked so energetic, and happy, and...

The clatter of the brush hitting the bathroom tile rang in his ears. The world spun as he dropped to the ground, pressing his back to the opposite wall and pulling his bare knees into his chest, clutching them in an effort to calm down. He had enough experience to know that this was a panic attack, if a minor one. The freezing wall kept him connected to reality, even if his swarming thoughts kept dragging him back, his ragged, shallow breaths murder on his lungs. 

'Just breath. In, and out. Like clockwork. In, and out.' 

Ten minutes pass, in which his clenching and unclenching hands shook with the force not to cry out, or pull his hair out of his skull. Slowly, his muscles began to loosen, the nails clawing his flesh weakening in their vice-like grip. Letting out a deep, shaking sigh, Virgil leaned his head back against the wall, reaching upwards to massage his now aching neck. "Sue me for wanting one day where nothing goes wrong..." He whispered into the empty bathroom.

Virgil supported his weight on the counter as he stood, trembling. Cautiously, he raised his hand to push his bangs away. Seeing it again and knowing what it was gave him a feeling of utter helplessness. 

_'For who could ever learn to love a beast?',_ his mind supplied unhelpfully. 'But for who the absolute fuck indeed', he mused, tracing the line softly with his index finger. It was honestly a little breathtaking, almost making up for the damning implications. He had the distinct feeling no matter how much foundation he applied, it wouldn't disappear completely, as if that'd stop him from trying. He couldn't be seen with this, this _thing_ right on his damn face. Nope, he couldn't, not by Patton, or Logan, or Roman-

Oh. Oh, _hell_ no.

This...wasn't because of _Roman_ , was it? The arrogant, dramatic prince, the physical representation of ego. And a black line. Of course it had to be a black line. Even if he wanted to deny it, the line would remain a constant reminder that he, Virgil, had been stupid enough to let himself fall for such an idiot. A loud, annoying, posh, charming idiot.

He held his face in his hands, thinking calming thoughts before heavily applying foundation over the obscuring line. No rash decisions had to be made; he needed advice from someone he trusted.

The only complication? Princey, and when he would eventually discover his red mark turned black.


	2. Fake Burns and a Good Liar

Logan started his day as normal. He listened to Patton cooking breakfast in the back of his mind, reading quietly over the arm of the living room couch; his excellent planning skills had given them all a free weekend after a long couple days of work.

He vaguely registered the sound of the oven opening and shutting, but didn't comment on it. Patton likely just remembered some new delectable cookie recipe he wanted to test, to surprise them all. And, sure enough, a minute later he could smell cinnamon in the air around him, mixing pleasantly with the usual eggs and toast. Him and Patton were the only sides to partake in this meal together, as Roman ate between 'breaks in his creative process', as he always worded it when Patton fretted over him about not eating properly. Virgil didn't partake, instead taking the time off from the late nights he worked. The caring trait always, always saved him a plate.

It felt akin to a tradition, in his opinion. Though he doubted Patton shared such a...sentimental outlook on the matter...it still meant more to him than he would ever admit aloud. He reached up to skim his left collarbone with his thumb, holding the book in one hand.

A loud gasp broke out accompanied by a clang of metal. Logan jumped, his eyes trained towards the kitchen. The house went suddenly silent, the commotion upsetting the morning peace.

"Patton?" Logan yelled, his voice a bit too loud in his ears. Patton didn't respond. "Patton? Can you hear me?" He tried again, pulse twanging uncomfortably beneath his skin. Seconds later, and still not a word from Patton. Assuming the worst, he sprang from his seat and practically ran the short distance to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway at the sight before him.

Patton had fallen back against the countertop next to the sink, staring aghast at his right hand, his other clutched firmly over his mouth. His face was a portrait of stunned horror, eyes wide and immobile from the one spot on his hand. The oven lay open, and a upturned tray sat atop several scattered cinnamon-sugar cookies, broken and squished from their fall.

"Patton? Are you alright?"

Patton's head nodded slowly, not looking at him. Logan let out a breath, moving to step over the large mess. As he did so, however, the moral side's concentration finally broke. His eyes met Logan's, terrified, before he straightened up and adopted a wide false smile, balling his hands quickly into his chest. Logan startled at the abrupt change, stopping abruptly. Consequently, he got stuck in an awkward half-lunge, perfectly splayed over the mess, undecided on whether to proceed in his goal to comfort Patton or step away.

Impulsive tendency getting the best of him, he threw his weight forward to surpass the heap of ruined confectionery, but overbalanced, landing clumsily and too close to the already-petrified baker. Their eyes locked momentarily, sharing one undefined, endless moment. Neither of them spoke as Logan shuffled back, apologetic, hoping he could convey more in silence than words.

It took some time for Logan to recover from that.

Eventually, in what felt like minutes, he coughed. "Patton, what happened here?" His voice betrayed him with a mild tremor. It was nothing, however, compared to the utter wreck of Patton's.

"Hey Logi, I uh, I, uh...hi! Do you, um, need something? What are you up to? Well anyway I've just been baking, like usual, and then I saw..." Patton trailed off a bit, clenching his wrist "...I saw how lovely the new recipe turned out, oh they were beautiful, just splendid, and you know I like my sweets, yessir! So uh I'd let you try but now they're on the floor and even though I cleaned yesterday you might get dust or hair or something gross in your mouth and get sick and it'd be bad, and, and," His breath caught in his throat, halfway between a wheeze and hacking.

Logan's mouth gaped. "Patton."

The moral trait sighed, holding his face in his unburdened hand, curling the other into a soft fist. "Sorry, Lo..."

"It's alright, of course, Patton. Panic is a common response to unexpected damaging stimuli." He said, thankful for the adrenaline draining from the situation. Patton's brow furrowed, cocking his head slightly. Logan blinked back, feeling even more confused than Patton looked.

"Your hand? When you burnt it on the cookie sheet. You _did_ burn it, did you not?"

Patton eyes lit up. "Yeah...yeah! That's why I'm embarrassed. Obviously. I burned myself, when I, with the cookie sheet." He sighed, all his nervousness seemingly vanished as he nodded, hand still held against his chest.

 _'We really are terrible liars.'_ Logan thought, dully. He didn't comment on this to Patton; he figured it unkind to interrogate him so blatantly.

"You have burnt yourself many times before, so I suppose I'm not entirely surprised. It must still be painful, may I please see?" He said, stepping only close enough to reach his own hand in what he hoped looked like a comforting gesture.

Patton clutched it subtly harder to his sternum. "No, you can't see it!" He barked.

Logan's face hardened. The concern in his eyes disappeared, almost completely. Something about the way Patton had said 'you'. As in, 'anyone but you'.

Emotions, simple emotions, fogged his mind like harmful chemical gases: anger, confusion, and grief. Primarily the latter, which, he was an expert in concealing.

Patton's face worried, his uncharacteristic offense dropping immediately. "Logan, wait, that isn't what I meant."

"Then what _did_ you mean? How may I perceive that statement any other way?" Logan sighed, anger leaving despite himself. Patton hadn't meant to lash out, of course he knew that.

"I just-" Patton bit his bottom lip, glancing down into the palm of his hand. "-I...don't wanna show you the, uh, burn. It looks worse than it really is. You know," He chuckled, placing his hands behind his back and stepping innocently closer, a grin and puppy-eyes playing his lips. "Hard to think I might be capable of treating an injury without your assistance," His typical bubbly tone twisted itself into an almost suggestive manner, and he leaned forward just a fraction of an inch. "Sometimes I wonder how I'd make it if you weren't always there to protect me."

Logan's eyes went wide, but he refused to let his face heat up or, even worse, actually _respond_ to such a statement. That was out of the question. So he said nothing. If Logan was an optimistic side, he might've thought Patton seemed a bit disappointed in his lack of participation.

"Well anyway," Patton chirped, resuming the conversation as if nothing had caused a Logan's heart rate to double within the last few seconds, ", you can go back to your reading. I need to uh...treat this burn, and clean the kitchen. We might be a little late to start breakfast, but," He shrugged.

"I can clean the kitchen, and perhaps resume the breakfast if I'm really not permitted to help treat your injury."

His vitality weakened under Patton's starry gaze. "It's clearly the least I can do, I mean...you cook for all of us every day, and-"

Patton enveloped him in a gentle hug. He stood, calm yet breathless, before softly wrapping his arms above Patton's waist, careful, like he might break him at any moment.

"Thank you, Logan." Patton breathed into his chest. Logan nodded silently, squeezing just a little tighter.

They slowly disconnected, Patton glancing at Logan one last time before rushing off to the bathroom. Logan grazed his thumb over his collarbone, where Patton's head had been moments earlier, smiling sadly once he knew no one could see.


	3. Fngs fr th Mmrs

A chipmunk skittered halfway across the dirt trail winding through the Imagination, squeaking and leaping into a bush as a wandering prince approached. Roman snorted, making a deliberate stop to revel in the peaceful sounds of the forest. Birds, possibly sparrows, flew among the high trees, sending a leaf or two spiraling down to the earth. A light breeze swept his hair, playing with the grass growing in around the path. When satisfied, he continued his journey.

He often traversed this part of the Imagination to de-stress, but today, he just wanted a break from the real world. Having such a big personality was, frankly, exhausting. But on clear mornings to the likes of these, with no big projects or concerns to speak of, he-

His thoughts were swept blank at the sound of footsteps which were definitely not his own. He kept walking, pretending he hadn't noticed. A large cloak being drug against some foliage made his eyes narrow, and he halted. 

The individual was human. In the quick glint of his sword, Roman had the suspect pinned against the nearest tree, blade level to their throat, pressing hard enough to make their skin itch. If they attempted to flee, their life would spill in mere seconds.

The person's physique was tall, and heavyset, stomach bulging awkwardly in the middle, as if they had strapped two or three pillows around their midriff and torso for protection. Most else he couldn't see due to the large, hooded robe they wore.

They wretched slightly against the heavy blade, pressing themselves to the trunk of the tree as best they could.

"Who are you, and why were you following me." He stated calmly, well aware of his upper hand against the stranger. Lessening the sword's pressure, Roman could see a familiar grin from beneath the hood...a familiar, _fanged_ grin.

'Ah, _hell_ ,' is the one thing Roman thought before sighing, releasing the blade from her neck.

As he put his magnificent weapon back in it's holster, he regarded the woman wearily. "And what, may I ask, was your intention in hiding your identity so conspicuously?"

She snapped her left claw-hand thingy, the cloak swiping off her body. "Just keeping you on your toes, Creativity. I must say, you have gotten better." 

The Dragon Witch's unnaturally-deep voice rang with humor. Her bulging tail uncoiled itself from her stomach. Scales covered her charcoal black skin. Gold accents drifted magically across the material of her dark purple, skin-tight dress, complimenting her acidic snake eyes perfectly. 

Roman hated admitting how much he envied her sense of fashion.

Princey ran a hand through his hair, then held his face in his palm. "Yes yes, congratulations on ruining my peaceful jaunt through the woods once again. Now what do you want?" He added an eye roll for effect. This was certainly not the first time this had happened, and doubted if there would ever be a last.

The Witch raised her eyebrows, smirking in a way that put Roman on edge. "My my, we certainly are sassy. That Emo child is rubbing off on you."

Roman scoffed, crinkling his nose in a way he hoped looked convincing. "I don't know what you're talking about, Witch. And his name," he added testily, ", is Virgil."

"Your act is weak, Roman. Defending your damsel's honor won't be unconvincing me anytime soon."

'Who does she think she is?' Roman thought bitterly, taking a deep breath through his nose. In his mind, he could almost _hear_ Virgil's dry chuckle. _'Yeah, if she took one good look at us she'd know who the real damsel is.'_

He had to bite his cheek to keep his smile hidden, but couldn't help his face going just a tiny bit red. More pink, really.

The Witch's smile could only be described as motherly, even if the horned nose and thin irises made it look predatory. "You're redder than your sash, dear."

"...am not." Roman huffed, crossing his arms and feeling like a small child. "Is that all? May I please leave?"

The Witch seemed to hesitate, pulling at the hem of her sleeve. Her posture lessened, making her more human than reptile, if for one moment.

His next words caught him off guard. "Is...everything okay?" He didn't regret asking, it just wasn't natural, having such a real conversation with a person he hardly ever considered more than an enemy, let alone a friend.

"No, not exactly." She gave him a weak, honest smile. "I haven't been my best recently, and...I've considered making amends for many a year now. It seems I no longer have the option to suspend them. I've run out of time."

A small weight placed itself on Roman's chest, his eyes widening. "You're...you're not-?"

She nodded gravely, still smiling, a look of pity in her venomous stare.

"No, you can't be...Thomas isn't," He rambled, not sure why his eyes were stinging, his voice raising.

"That doesn't matter."

"You're not-"

"I am, and-"

"No, you can't...you can't-!"

"Die?"

Her saying it made it too real. How _calmly_ she could say it, like it meant it nothing to her, or nothing to him.

The beautiful Imagination fell silent, strained and labored with the weight upon their shoulders. Everything in their past seemed to blur into a single mosaic of confusion and conflict.

She was his greatest villain. He was the prince she'd trained, and in turn, trained herself to love. Neither of them spoke on this strange duality, allowing the space to forgive, to apologize.

But then the time for mournful reverie was gone.

"I have come to inform you, before it's an inexplicable shock: I am in the process of reversing the magic I have cast over the years, namely, a certain spell you begged me set long ago." She crowed, thin tongue slipping and spitting wetly between her sharp teeth.

Roman fidgeted. "I asked you for...help?" He blinked, then shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about, I have never done such a thing before." His voice quivered, some of his nerve poking through the seams.

"Really now, Prince boy, we both know I am more than capable of memory charms; four of which you requested in addition to aid with a...different area of difficulty, one might have said."

"What did I ask for?"

"You had your, as well as any possibility of the other four gaining one, removed. I'm certain you still retain a fraction of knowledge regarding the Tally system?" She smiled at Roman's questioning gaze, holding up a finger to silence him. "I could show you my exact recollection of the memory; I had it preserved, knowing this day would come, eventually..."

She waved her arm, wand apparating into her graying, clawed hand instantly. Roman nodded rubbing circles over the skin on his hand, willing himself not to be overwhelmed. Whatever he had been hiding from himself for years...it mustn't be anything good.

_'Oh, Roman, what have you done?'_


	4. What a Coincidence

_'Oh, shoot, we're out of bandages again.'_

Patton cursed, running his unmarked hand through his hair. The other he kept safely in his pocket. He dug through the bottles and checked every cabinet, but there were no bandages or medical gauze, nothing he could use to hide the 'burn'.

Walking from the bathroom, both hands shoved firmly in his pockets, he hastened towards Virgil's room; he had the only other bathroom in the Mind, a small one connected to his room, since he had the furthest one from the real bathroom. 

Reaching the door, he knocked cheerfully, tapping his foot faster than a march hare. He didn't expect a quick answer, but he knocked again anyway. Nothing happened.

"Hey kiddo! Can I come in?" Patton finally called.

He heard a quiet sniffle, followed by a tiny whine. Patton's smile drooped, the crinkles at the edge of his eyes flattening. He let himself in, wary.

His room was kind of messy. Not a pig sty, really, but it might take a good thirty-to-forty minutes to properly put everything away. His headphones hung around a bedpost, looking cold and unused; never a good sign. The bathroom door stood ajar, wafts of steam floating lazily outwards _, and  
_

His hair was semi-damp, wearing a black towel loose around his waist. He used his other hand to push up his bangs, judging his face in the reflection. So tired looking, even compared to his usual, but Patton sighed in relief; catching his son in the midst of an attack was his least favorite thing in the world.

Patton stepped lightly into the small bathroom. "Virgil, hey, are you doing alright?"

Virgil jumped at Patton's intrusion. He sighed in relief, wrapping the towel tighter around his thin body. "Oh, uh, hey Patton. You need something, or...?" He sighed, heaviness dripping in every syllable.

"It can wait. I'm sorry buddy, was it a bad one this time? Can I get you some water?"

He chuckled, a warm grin lifting his face slightly. "No, thanks Pat. This time's kinda different." His attention wandered back to the mirror and he surveyed the reflection disdainfully. "Um, kind of a lot different, actually."

A cocktail of negativity pooled in Patton's stomach at those words. Were the attacks getting worse? More frequent? A combination of both which led to a damaged Virgil who might make desperate, rash decisions with even less sleep, distancing himself from the rest of the mind and undermining his worth as part of the family?

As this symphony of paranoia played in Patton's head, he kept a calm exterior, setting his hands comfortingly on his troubled-son's shoulders. The days had passed when he wished he had a better relationship with Virgil, wondering if he ever overstayed his welcomes or got too overwhelming to deal with. Now he knew this boy needed and appreciated everything he had to give, without question.

"What can I do to help you?" Patton kept a steady gaze between himself and Virgil.

Virgil paused, glancing at Patton wearily. "I've just got a problem. A big problem, and I don't even know where to begin fixing it, or how to fix it, and I'm kinda-definitely freaking out about all of it." He began to fidget with his hands, ringing them and popping his knuckles distractedly. Patton winced at the tiny clicks, and Virgil stopped, looking sheepish. "Sorry, I forgot you don't like that." He paused, glancing back at Patton, who still hadn't released the firm hold on his shoulders. "Can you keep a secret?"

Patton's lips pursed: he really needed to help his son, but he was a train wreck at secret keeping. Of course he wouldn't tell him that; Virgil needed him! So he nodded, smiling assuredly in face of his doubts.

Virgil took a deep breath, moving Patton's hands off him. "Okay, I'm trusting you a lot with this so just...don't freak out, or get too excited."

Well, that didn't help. So it wasn't a bad secret? Energy began to build behind his growing smile. "Oh my gosh, are you getting yourself all scared over something _good_?" He said, squealing when Virgil started to blush a subtle pink. 

"You're excited and you don't even know what it is..." He said, resigned tone betrayed by his pleased smile. Shaking his head, he carded a hand through his hair, fear worming it's way back into his veins. The smile dropped, replaced by shaking hands.

"Virgil, it'll be okay," Patton soothed, "Whatever it is, I'm sure you can get through it, like you always do! There's nothing wrong with being scared."

Virgil nodded. Balling his fists together one last time, he reached over to a pack of makeup wipes, snatched one, and rubbed it against his forehead, which, Patton realized, had been the only part of his face with any makeup on it. He didn't notice sooner, because his bangs were always covering the area anyway.

After Virgil got most of the pale makeup off he threw the cloth onto the counter. He glanced at Patton, then held up his bangs and cast his eyes down at the floor, feet shuffling. On his skin sat a small, thin line, black as winter's night.

Patton blinked. And stared. He stared for far too long, stretching the silence with it.

Then time seemed to resume. Patton's eyes widened and he gasped, taking a step back and covering his mouth, denying his body's impulses to scream, and hug Virgil. Of course, of _course_ they were in love! Those two were obvious. And oblivious. Ob-livious? _'Focus, Patton!'_

During Patton's minor freakout, Virgil had curled his shoulders in bashfully, his meek smile returning. Face still wet and for once not covered with makeup, that pretty blush could truly cover his pallid complexion.

"How long has that been there?!" Patton whisper-shouted, grinning widely behind his hand. He tried playing it cool, exerting energy by bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying desperately to keep his promise and stay calm. It didn't feel like it was working very well.

"It hasn't been long, I only noticed like ten minutes ago." Virgil said noncommittally, betrayed by his cheeks continuing to glow.

"Oh, right, yeah. Well, that's...that's just incredible." 

Virgil smiled at his reflection. "Yeah, it kinda is."

Another silence ensued, more pleasant this time. Both of them kept looking at the mark, Patton having long forgotten about the bandages.

"So," Patton teased a minute later, putting his hands behind his back innocently, "Who do you think it might be?"

Virgil rolled his eyes, not bothering to meet Patton's playful gaze. "Oh yeah, cause I'm thrilled with the idea of getting between you and Logan's, uh...dynamic."

"Pffft, what are you even _talking_ about?" Patton scoffed, eyes blinking rapidly, "We don't have a 'dynamic', silly. That's you and Roman. By far."

"Please. I'm surprised you and Logan don't have one of these awful marks on your-" He stopped, dropping his hair back over the mark and focusing all his attention on Patton, who's face had gone blank. "You don't...there isn't a...right?"

Patton grinned shyly, holding out the emboldened, black gash in the palm of his hand, brushing his thumb over it delicately. Compared to Virgil's it seemed longer, extending over the entirety of his hand, reaching to the base of his fingers and finishing at the top of his wrist, about the width of a pencil.

Virgil's eyebrows furrowed, and he met Patton's eyes. "Wait, that's weird and cool and everything, but why are you here again?"

The realization caught up to him five minutes late, and Patton smacked himself in the forehead. "Oh, crab apples, I'm here because of this!" He shook the mark, looking much less careful with it all of a sudden. "Kind of a long story, but bear with me here: Okay, so I'm making breakfast, like usual, you know. And today I was feeling adventurous, and I like cookies, so I thought what the heck, I'll make a new cookie recipe too! Thirty minutes later and I've got mitts on so I can take the cookies out of the oven. I take them out, and I take off one of the mitts so I can do something else with my hand, and boom! I find this." 

He breathed for a moment, waving the mark in some semblance of a jazz hand. "I got so shocked I dropped the cookie sheet, making a giant mess, and Logan shows up. He starts acting all sweet and awkward and nice, and-" Patton paused, "Stop looking at me like that, it's part of the story Virgil. He wanted to see the 'burn', and of course I couldn't show him the mark! So, to sum it all up, I told him it's a burn, I don't think he believes me, I need a gauze to wrap my hand, and..." He wheezed, clutching his chest like he'd run a marathon, "We're all out of bandages."

Virgil's mouth gaped, and he had to shake his head to stop it reeling. He left the room momentarily to grab Patton a cup of water, which he happily accepted. "There has to be some weird explanation to this, because I bet my life it's not a coincidence."

"Now Virgil," Patton scolded, respiratory system fully recovered, "What've we said about offering up our lives, even if it's just to get a point across?" He took great gulps of water, somehow still halfway-intimidating with a mouthful of water, in that Dad sort of way.

He was spared from answering the sternest of Patton's moods by a sharp couple of knocks at his bedroom door.

"Good afternoon, Virgil," Logan's voice sounded through the door, and Patton did a tremendous spit take all over an indignant Virgil, apologizing profusely. "Have you seen or heard from Patton?"

Virgil tried not to sound too disgusted, ' _because seriously Patton, I literally JUST showered'._ "Good afternoon yourself, egghead. And Patton's in here."

"Really? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, he's just talking with me about hoow-" Virgil backtracked as Patton shook his head violently, "How, uh...we're out of bandages. Yup. He's using some of mine."

"Alright...? Um, thank you Virgil. Patton, I finished up the rest of breakfast, I hope it's..." Logan's solid voice weakened just a bit, before picking itself up again, "Acceptable. Oh, and Virgil, if you would like to join us...?"

Virgil smirked devilishly, looking Patton directly in the eyes as he spoke. "Nah, thanks, I'm not in the social mood. You've already hit my word limit for today, teach."

"How could I have possibly-"

"I'm still hearing words."

"Okay! Okay." You could practically _see_ his exasperated sigh from two rooms away.

Patton took the heated pause to clear his throat, probably from the small amount of water and spit that _didn't_ land on Virgil. "Hi Logan, I'll be out in five minutes. Don't worry, I wouldn't miss it!"

Virgil could also see in his mind's eye the prominent blush creeping up Logan's shirt collar while Patton looked away, smiling and pretending not to notice. "Right, uhm...right. Goodbye."

When Logan left, Virgil busied himself with looking for bandages, and he spoke with his head in the cabinet under the sink. "You know, he didn't sound too sad I couldn't make it to breakfast, Patton, wonder why that was."

Patton didn't answer, too busy looking at the mark on his hand.

Virgil sighed, but couldn't help smiling when he saw him. "All us idiots fell in love. How heartwarming."


	5. A Lesson in Help

"Okay, okay, okay," Virgil breathed, bunching his hands into fists in his hoodie pocket. He walked slower than he ever had in his life, but he knew he _had_ to do it today, or he never would. "You're cool, you're cool! Everything, is, fine."

Everything was not fine, and he was not cool.

Doubt flooded his mind with every dragging step, and he let his hair drape over his face like a shield. 'It's _Princey_. Even if he's a huge dork, and not incredibly intelligent, he is the literal embodiment of romance. He's an expert, and kind of incredibly handsome. I don't know if I can do this. I'm gonna screw it up.'

The door came into view. 'Fuck, fuck, okay. Be cool, stay chill, it's okay, you can do this. It's just Princey, it'll be fine. Worst comes to worst, he instantly shoots me down. That's _fine_. If he says yes...we'll just go from there.'

Even as he repeated this mantra, the image of the tally mark on his forehead made his stomach curl. 'What if he's disgusted? Or disappointed? Maybe it really is marker, and he'll call me an idiot for believing in something so stupid...'

Virgil stopped, the Prince's regal white door shining, spotless. He cleared his throat, smoothing his hair in a way he hoped to god looked decent, and stepped forward to meet his destiny; to, hopefully, start his new life with romance and adventure.

He smiled grudgingly. 'Maybe he isn't such a good influence on me after all.'

Just as he was about to knock for the prince, Virgil stopped, listening intently. There, he could make out a few whimpers: an agonized groan, full-on sobs growing worse by the second. Each noise sounded muffled, like he must have himself in his bed, pouring his sadness out into a pillow.

His face softened. Roman upset himself very easily, over very small things, and had the highest standards he'd ever seen in a person. But those sniffles, and ugly chokes and coughs?

He'd been through that. When you have to wait all day, putting on a brave face for weeks, not feeling quite right, when something in you just. Snaps. And suddenly everything wrong with your world is directly in front of you, trying to break you down. You're ashamed, and almost begging for someone to find you lying there, red and wet with grief...and no one ever does.

He knocked. "Hi Roman, can I please come in?" Virgil tried to speak with kindness and affection, consequentially feeling very out of place and heartily unlike himself.

Only feeble snorts answered him, but then a sigh, and the distinct noise of a body rolling reluctantly out of bed, feebly coughing on the way to the door.

It opened, and Roman took to supporting himself against the doorframe, looking the least princely Virgil had ever seen him. His hair stuck up in odd directions, tear tracks visibly lining his face and the resulting stains on his suit, which was disheveled and missing the sash. His skin didn't radiate, and the ever-present fire in his eyes vanished. He wrung his hands, and appeared to be wearing...gloves?

"Greetings, Patton, how may I be of service to-" Roman's eyes shot to Virgil. "You are most definitely not Patton."

"I'm not," Virgil agreed with a light smirk, "Sorry to disappoint you." The prince began to deflate, and Virgil lost his smile. "Hey, what's going on with you, you look horrible."

The prince had the effort in him to give a weak scoff, but it didn't reach his bloodshot eyes.

Virgil frowned. "Come on, you may be a good actor, but you're completely soaked with tears right now."

"There's nothing wrong," Roman sighed, wiping his eyes.

"I know you're lying. Tell me what happened, you're obviously hiding something."

"Oh, is that so?"

He could feel his blood pressure rising; Roman always picked fights on purpose. "Uh, yeah, it is. Spill the beans, Princey." Virgil snapped.

"Well, it's none of your business, I have no obligation to be truthful towards anyone, especially you." A different type of spark crackled dangerously in his gaze, and both men could feel electricity in the air.

"Right, I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was a crime to care about your friend's well being," He spat, the venom not completely overwhelming the bitter taste of the word 'friend'. "Please forgive me, my liege, how idiotic of me, to think we might not be enemies anymore."

"You are not my enemy, Virgil! It's just _my_ business, not _yours_. And yes, I do not require you to look after me, you anxiety-ridden nightmare..." Roman scrambled, looking around hastily," Mess!"

Roman's glare broke. Virgil's lips pursed, his muscles relaxing.

"Nightmare...mess?" He tried not to laugh, failing as Roman turned red and gave a small shrug.

"Yes, well...maybe I'm not exactly at my best...as you've clearly seen." Roman sighed, running a hand through his tossed hair.

Virgil stared: regardless of how angry they were seconds earlier, or how trashed Pricey might be, he still managed to look like a fucking model. And not just that, but he looked like he might break with the slightest touch, and that made Virgil feel...weird. Like he wanted to _protect_ him, and comfort him, and, dear god, touch him. To make his stormclouds go away.

What an asshole, making Virgil fall in love with him like this.

"I really must look atrocious, like this, I...Virgil, I apologize for my behavior." Roman looked entirely sincere, the way he held his hands together, how he wasn't focused on the way he presented himself.

Virgil shrugged it off. "Princey, it's alright, you don't have to-"

"No, my stormy friend, let me finish," He cut across him, holding a dainty finger in his face. Virgil rolled his eyes, and the prince continued. "I didn't mean to...no, I _did_ mean to upset you, and that is highly unjustified. You only wished to know what happened, and I got emotional and hostile with you. For that, I am truly sorry."

As he finished, Virgil gave a real, tender smile. "Thank you, Roman, and I'm sorry too. I got pushy, and demanded you to tell me what was going on when you clearly couldn't. I'll remember to respect your business from now on, and not kick you while you're down."

Roman nodded, frowning. "I...think I'm going to depart now. Get presentable, and everything," He waved his hand, not looking at Virgil, and headed back through the door, beginning to close it behind him.

"Wait, Roman!" Virgil hastened to push the door back open, and Roman glanced between him and his hand on the door curiously.

"Look," Virgil started, "I know we don't really get along. And we're completely different, and we don't really ever spend time together, other than in videos. I'm sorry that you don't trust me, that I get too pushy about things sometimes. But just please let me help you, because I really want to and-" He stared at the ground. "Yeah. So...yeah. I don't know you. But I want to."

Glancing up, Virgil was startled to see Roman staring at him with wide, doe-like eyes, a hand held weak over his mouth, like he was going to start crying again.

This made Virgil feel much less brave all of a sudden. "I mean, uh," Virgil shuffled his feet, "If that's okay with you. I'm sure you're fine by yourself, being a prince and everythi-"

"No, please!" Roman stepped toward him and held his arm. His desperate, gentle touch sent a wave of nerves through his body; not because of the actual touch or some sentimental bullshit, but because if Roman got any closer he'd see the tally mark. Obviously.

He continued. "You may help me, thank you, that is incredibly kind of you to do so. I appreciate it, much more than you realize." The prince beamed, perfect teeth glimmering, until a thought seemed to cross his mind, and his grip loosened. "...but of course, you don't _have_ to. If you actually wish not to. Like if you were only being nice, or pitying me in some way, then..."

Virgil grasped the prince's gloved hand, holding their hands between the pair of them and refusing to let go. "Give me the time and place. I want to help you, Roman." He stood tall, determination and a hint of mischief in his eye, locking his gaze to Roman's.

Roman's vision went hazy for a moment. The light left his eyes. "Before dusk, in the imagination. Wear something nice and wait for me on the inside."

He squeezed Virgil's hand, a thoughtful, searching look in his eyes before he closed the door behind him.


	6. Best Friend, Favorite Person, ???

Logan ran his hand through his hair, looking down at the spotless kitchen tiles. He'd cleaned up the mess, and realized a slight problem with their little impromptu arrangement: he didn't want to cook for Patton.

Perhaps that was wrong of him? He listened for any interfering footsteps or voices, and, hearing none, decided to completely over-analyze the issue.

He leaned over and rested his arms on the countertop, goosebumps raising on his skin from the cool surface. His breathing became the only sound, heavy and slow in the complete silence. _  
_

_'If there is a problem there must be a foundation, solution, and justification for having it. Now,'_ Logan clasped his hands together, fingers intertwining as if in prayer, _'What, exactly, is my problem?'  
_

An answer floated to the surface of his mind. _'Well, yes, I realize I don't want to cook. Is there any specific motivation towards my apprehension? It does not usually bother me when I am inexperienced with matters outside of my "comfort zone". I am not a cook, though I respect others' for their ability. But I'm not terrible. So why does it bother me right now?'_

 _'Oh!'_ His eyebrows raised, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. _'If I make food, it will be average, at best. That might not bother me, but I am preparing food for more than one individual; Patton, of course, will also be having some.'_

The satisfaction in his discovery was short-lived, his eyes squinting, though they had closed. _'I do not wish to serve sub-standard food to Patton, as he is my friend. Friends put forth effort to preserve their bond.'_

He crossed his arms, shifting his weight. Involuntarily, his nose scrunched, and his lip curled. "No, that's wrong...somehow." He whispered, voice almost ringing back in the sparsely-occupied room. _  
_

 _'There must be something about Patton that makes him different. Would I care as much if I were to eat alone with Roman or Virgil?'_ It took minutes to scavenge a proper answer for those, but they didn't call him Logic for nothing. _  
_

_'Alright...so, it feels different being adequate in my cooking towards one individual, Patton, than it does involving the others. Roman and Virgil, though I include them as my dear friends, whom I indeed care for, I honestly like being in Patton's presence more. This gives Patton a, conceptually speaking, "higher" ranking among my friends.  
_

_'No,'_ he shook his head, _', this puts him in an altogether different category than just a friend.'  
_

This didn't entirely shock him. He knew how much he liked spending time with Patton, and how much he appreciated his warmth and fun-loving nature, so unlike his own personality. He made Logan laugh, regardless of how much he pretended to despise it. And Patton liked Logan, for reasons he couldn't determine, no matter how much he thought about it. _  
_

' _In conclusion, my hesitation to cook is not due to laziness, or lack of sympathy for an injured friend. I am simply disinclined to make a fool of myself in front of Patton, because I like him more as a person than anyone else. He is probably...my favorite person.'  
_

Logan sighed and opened his eyes. Nothing around him had changed except the amount of natural light coming in from the living room windows, displaying the brilliant star that is the sun rising higher in the bright blue sky.

Checking his watch, he still had some time to start cooking, regardless of how futile his attempts may be. _'Patton will be grateful, I think. He is incredibly kind in that regard.'_ The thought made him smile, and he kept smiling as he began his task, even if he didn't comprehend the silliness of such a thing.

Minutes passed in content silence, until he felt another query plaguing him as he placed a few slices of bread in the toaster, once again involving his unordinary Patton _. 'Why did I act so strange, thinking Patton got hurt?'  
_

It annoyed him to know he couldn't pick apart the solution so cleanly and organized in his head: he had to think more with his heart, because he needed to handle the food _,_ and if he spaced out completely, he might set the kitchen on fire.

He huffed, opening the fridge to get their favorite spreads _._

 _'Okay, okay...I was in the living room, Patton making cookies and about to start breakfast. I heard Patton's distress, then a clang of metal. Of course, that isn't normal.'_ He rolled his eyes at himself. _'After receiving no indication that he was alright, I rushed to his aid.'_

Logan frowned at his word choice, pausing in his effort to grab the Crofter's. Had he really...rushed?

That made him sound either more heroic or tenacious than he would like to be remembered as. He shook his head, shutting the fridge with a snap, and continued his train of thought. _  
_

_'I found him, with a giant mess at his feet, and tried multiple times to gain his attention while he stared at his hand. When I did eventually engage him in conversation, he seemed...distracted, and secretive.'_

Something ugly bubbled in his stomach, and he found himself glaring at the toaster, arms crossed, leaning against the fridge.

He blinked in surprise, trying to mentally shoo away that bad feeling. _'Anger? Of all things, why would I be angry at Patton?'_

And then it occurred to him, as the scene replayed in his head, the one sentence that had given him such a monstrous emotion _._

_' "No, you can't see it!" '_

He'd almost _yelled_ it, for goodness sake! It hurt his feelings greatly, after trying to be nice and comforting, something he had little experience in, to have it thrown back in his face with such venom _._ And for it to be coming from his favorite person in the world. _..  
_

A moment came and went where he simply stood, tapping his fingers against his arm _,_ completely enveloped in angst _.  
_

Then, he reminded himself to step back, and breathe. _'This is positively_ _ridiculous.'_

He let his arms fall to his sides. _'Patton is the one who hurt himself, and here I am acting_ _so, so..._ _selfish, and oversensitive. Get a grip, Logan, you're not looking at the big picture.'_

Reflecting over the scene again, he remembered how sorry Patton looked, the second the words came out of his mouth. Anyone could tell he'd been lying, he must've been under immense pressure already, and he just happened to lash out at Logan because he was, 'poking the Dad bear', as Virgil said on occasion. It wasn't Patton's fault, and Logan made a mental note to apologize to him later.

The toaster made that clangy, popping noise, signifying the completion of their breakfast, and the end of his mental dissections.

After plating their meals, bringing them to the table, and setting up the silverware and such, Logan noticed it had been nearly thirty minutes since Patton had gone to treat his burn. However false that statement might've been.

He looked down at the plates, eyeing them with distaste. Not that they looked atrocious, he'd clearly tried his best, but they didn't have the same 'homey' quality as his friend's. In all honesty, he had wished more than once for Patton to show up, to maybe...show him what he was doing wrong, and...accompany him. His face flushed with color.

See, why should that embarrass him, wanting to spend more time with a good friend of his. _'This,'_ he thought in disdain, _' is why emotions are tiresome.'_ He didn't have time to unpack _all_ of that, so he decided to just go look for Patton.

Several stops, from the bathroom, to Patton's room, the kitchen again, and even his own room, and he found himself at Virgil's door. If Virgil, or Roman hadn't seen him, he might resort to checking the Imagination once before making a fuss about it.

He knocked skittishly, feeling a small urge to ball his hands together or pace up and down the hall. Whether this was caused by the proximity to Virgil's room, Patton's disappearance, or a combination of the two, he couldn't tell. "Good afternoon, Virgil."

His words had been followed by what sounded vaguely like a sneeze, but he carried on despite his mild confusion. "Have you seen or heard from Patton?"

"Good afternoon yourself, egghead. And Patton's in here." Virgil's unmistakable grumble came from farther away than Logan would have expected.

Relief washed over him, along with another dose of confusion. "Really? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, he's just talking with me about hoow-" Virgil paused strangely. "How, uh...we're out of bandages. Yup. He's using some of mine."

Another one of those terrible bubbles of emotion caught in his stomach, and this time it felt grittier. Meaner. A voice in his head whispered something, and he waved it away. "Alright...? Um, thank you Virgil. Patton, I finished up the rest of breakfast, I hope it's..."

Logan thought back to the food waiting for them on the table, sad and undesirable in comparison to his friend's. "Acceptable. Oh, and Virgil, if you would like to join us...?"

He could've smacked himself for that one. _Why_ had he asked that? He didn't want him to join, and this was their tradition thing. That might be the stupidest thing he's done all day. ' _Please don't say yes. Please.'_

"Nah, thanks, I'm not in the social mood. You've already hit my word limit for today, teach."

He sighed quietly, thankful to Virgil whether the gloom-ridden side knew it or not. Through his glee, he mustered up an exasperated tone. "How could I have possibly-"

"I'm still hearing words."

"Okay! Okay." The faux irritation in his voice would've impressed Roman, with such a broad grin on his face at the same time.

In the room, a throat cleared. "Hi Logan, I'll be out in five minutes. Don't worry, I wouldn't miss it!"

Logan tried very hard not to stand a little taller, or bite his lip, or feel the warmth creeping into his complexion. He tried, and failed, like usual. "Right, uhm...right. Goodbye." He managed to squeak out, before departing to the kitchen with a troublingly-easy-to-spot spring in his step. _'_

 _'Smooth, very smooth.'_ His brain criticized him for his obvious behavior, but at the moment it hardly mattered. He was about to partake in his favorite part of the day, with his favorite person, a person who 'wouldn't miss it.' And that made him happy, so what was so wrong about that?


	7. Burying the Hatchet

Virgil felt like an idiot. Here he was, sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, anxious out of his mind. By the doorway to the Imagination in one of his best outfits, he waited on Roman, the guy who had given him no context as to what they would be doing here in the first place.

When a person, quite possibly a crush, and most definitely your soulmate tells you to dress nice and meet at a secondary location at the brink of dusk, what the actual _fuck_ are you supposed to think?

He had spent a good portion of the day just deciding how to dress. The rest of it went towards trying not to stress out about the strange request, to join Roman to do...something, and go...somewhere. Hell if he knew what, but he followed at the royal's heels anyway.

Biting his tongue in the attempt to not scowl, Virgil glanced up and down the hallway, casually adjusting the collar of his blazer.

In the end he had decided on a formal look, but nothing too extravagant. Under his unbuttoned suit jacket, he donned a dark purple dress shirt and black pants, and black shoes, very clean and simple. A tiny, obnoxious part of him hoped Princey would be wearing his usual white, with red accents. It would go nicely next to his own darker style. But he'd never admit any of that, especially to Roman.

This isn't a date...he thinks? He's eighty-percent sure. The remorse and dread in the Prince's face as he asked him out didn't look like good news.

His worst fear, at the moment, would be that this was about the mark: that if Roman found his mark somewhere on him, and felt ashamed, or disgusted. Virgil would feel bad for himself in that situation, and even worse for the prince. He caused himself unnecessary grief all the time, he'd get over it, but his friend didn't deserve that kind of anguish.

Maybe if he tried hard enough he could get it to go away, but now that he saw it, he wasn't so sure. It gave him the feeling that if he was in one of those cheesy rom-coms where the person hits their head loses their memory, that little mark is what'd make him remember himself.

As gross as it was, he couldn't help but believe it.

It still felt weird, it happening to all of them at the same time like this. An explanation lay here somewhere, and Virgil didn't look forward to the revelation .

Light footsteps echoed from down the hall, and Virgil groaned in embarrassment. If Patton saw him in this getup he might just dig a hole. So he balled himself up and firmly shut his eyes, hoping he looked enough like a potted plant to not be interrogated. The soft rhythm got nearer and nearer, until it eventually stopped in front of him.

"...Virgil?" The voice spoke.

See, he wasn't spectacular at pinpointing everyone by voice alone. But before he opened his eyes, he guessed either a kinda chipper Logan or a very troubled Patton. Opening one eye, who he saw made him sit up straight against the wall.

Roman stood before him, a noble, failing attempt at a smile gracing his features. To Virgil's surprise and minuscule disappointment, he wore all black. He held a small bouquet of white roses. Other than being one of the most beautiful people alive, he looked tragic; broken.

He felt bad for staring, so he looked in his eyes instead. "Hey, Roman. I, uh," his voice caught in his throat, "You look good. For whatever we're doing."

The prince nodded, fidgeting with the thorny stems of the beautiful flowers. "Thank you very much, you of course look-"

He hadn't done much more than glance at Virgil, distracted as he must have been. Upon his second look, he froze, eyes roaming his figure in a way that made Virgil smirk knowingly.

Virgil coughed lightly, smug grin growing wider on his face as Roman took several more seconds to recover, his eyes focused and cheeks crimson. 

"...Spectacular. You look spectacular, Virgil, I-" He cleared his throat, his posture fading a little. "Thank you for meeting me here. The journey we're about to take, I don't know if I would have had the courage to take it alone."

Virgil got to his feet, giving Roman a sympathetic smile. "Hey, don't mention it, any of us would have done the same thing. You're not yourself, Ro."

He sighed, looking at the floor. "Yes, I know, I just..." Roman looked directly into Virgil. "May we please go now?" His voice trembled, and Virgil instinctively made a small move to hold the prince's hand, but chickened out. Roman didn't notice, thank the stars; or at least he hoped not.

Pushing and holding the door open for his friend, they set out into the Imagination.  
  
  


Upon entry, Virgil discovered a vast forest: beautiful and picturesque, like the one in Sleeping Beauty, the treetops almost extinguishing their view of the sky. Through the dense canopy, rainclouds formed in packs, glaring at them from behind thousands of leaves. The sun couldn't be seen. It was definitely going to start pouring if they didn't dare to leave very soon. A dirt tail wound through the depressing woodland, the ends of which, for either, could not be seen.

He chanced a glance at Roman, whose spirit seemed to reflect the depressing atmosphere. "Should we come back? It looks like it's gonna rain."

"No," he said gravely, "Please. I just...I need to get this done, right now. Come on."

He walked steadily forward, leading an increasingly-worried Virgil into the woods.

As they traveled, the minutes passing, Virgil thought back onto some of the few times he'd been in the Imagination. He hadn't been to this gloomy forest before, and wondered vaguely if he needed to talk to Roman about coming here less, because this place made him feel downright miserable.

He heard himself speak before he could stop himself. "Is this where you usually go? Like every time you go to the Imagination, I mean."

"Yeah." Princey obviously wasn't paying him much attention as he led the way, and Virgil wasn't entirely sure he'd even noticed the state of their current surroundings.

He tried again. "Okay, but is it always so..." his words trailed as his eyes caught a birds' nest off the side of the trail, which had fallen from a great height and did nothing to ease his sadness. Every animal they happened to come across, typically so friendly and joyful, looked up at them somberly before scampering away.

Roman glanced around, taking in the dismal environment with an empathetic gaze. "It's not usually so grim, no...but the forest has suffered a great loss as of late, and I-" he choked, and left it at that.

He didn't have the heart to bring up anything else. _'Had somebody actually...died? Is that a thing they could do now?'_ A part of him felt guilty for thinking of Deceit, the rest of him crossing his fingers.

As for the rest of their silent journey, nothing changed in the twisting path for several minutes until Roman stopped, and Virgil went to his side. He had stopped at an apparently random spot, but he gazed intently at a few scattered trees off the main road. 

He shot the prince a questioning glance. Roman looked back at him, saying nothing. A moment later, he began walking off the path and into the forest. Virgil followed, marking on how much darker it became as they traversed further in, fallen leaves crunching in time to their footfalls, the only movement he could hear.

Time passed in darkness, and the crunching of leaves became the crunch of gravel, loud under two pairs of dress shoes. A spark of phosphorescent light flickered in the air and vanished. It happened again, and again, with more and more lights, the air filling with the scattered bulbs until Virgil gasped as he realized.

Fireflies. With them, he could see the world around them, fading and popping back like clockwork. And though he had sworn to himself to get his heart out of the gutter from the beginning of this trip, he allowed his eyes to truly settle on Roman. The radiance of this moment could do wonders on anyone, really; but Princey's eyes, broken, and full of the shine from ten-thousand lightning bugs?

Not a sight to be missed. And he was allowed to marvel, unnoticed, for a long time before they eventually came to a stop, stepping into a clearing. The light intensified, and Virgil had to blink rapidly before he could really see where they were.

It was a small, wondrous little shack, perched on top of a hill. The walls were made of blackened wood, curved in many directions at once, with a large, equally-burnt door straining from it's hinges. The grass grew many shades greener than the rest, uncovered from the trees; and, while the house itself seemed rather dingy and unorthodox, several gardens were growing around it, potted and hanging plants growing on and through the windows. 

He felt something brush by his ankle, and looked in time to see a squirrel, holding a flower in it's mouth, skirt away over the hill and behind the house. Roman gestured in the same direction, and they walked up the short distance.

When they reached it, he had to stop short.

There was...a tombstone. At their feet, surrounded by candles and flowers and everything there would be at a usual burial sight, but it felt surreal. Death was something so incredibly rare to a side, it just. Doesn't really happen.

He followed Roman, getting closer, to see what the grave said, and found that he couldn't read it. The text read in a language he did not even recognize.

It started to rain. 

He conjured an umbrella for them to share, and Princey joined him; grateful. The light tapping sound of the water on the surface of the thin film above them became gradually heavier. Roman chuckled, no humor in his voice.

"It just occurred to me that you don't know who we came here for. This," he nodded to the slab, "is the dragon witch. You met her once didn't you?"

This took him by surprise, for sure, and he furrowed his eyebrows, turning his head to look at the prince. "Yeah, I mean kinda, but how did you know her? Weren't you like...enemies?"

"Sort of. There's more to every tale than meets the eye."

He took a moment to compose himself, eyes unwavering from the letters carved into the stone. Virgil waited patiently, resting his own gaze on the prince, the rain continuing to pour around them.

"Okay, well...yes, we were enemies for the longest time. Ambushes, kidnappings, insults, just stuff like that. But about a week ago, she found me, and told me how she knew she was going to die."

His voice was dry. "We made amends, and slowly, over the days, I think we might've become real friends." He smiled a little for the first time. "She told me about her life, and how much she saw, and what it was like to be her. Did you know," he said, voice sober, "that she got here before any of us? She was Thomas' _imaginary friend_ , can you believe it?"

"After Thomas got older and got most of us to replace her, she retired to the Imagination. These flowers," he eyed them honorably, "they're all from the animals. She knew them all, cared for them, fed them..."

He went cold. From his stare, to his tone. "This woman had been so incredibly good, for her entire life. And she didn't tell me everything, or why she hadn't let me know all this before now, but-" he looked down. "The guilt, of knowing how much I screwed up, is unbearable. And i-it's just-"

Roman suddenly stilled, burying his gloved hands into his hair.

Virgil saw him, powerless in the attempt to comfort in any way, shape, or form.

So he simply stood, letting himself be just a person to grieve with, hoping beyond hope that what he was doing was enough.

And to Roman, it was.


	8. Destitue of Vision

Logan couldn't stop smiling. He sat in his room on his office chair, reading through the lines of a book without actually seeing them.

Just as he'd promised, Patton had rejoined him, and they sat at the table to eat. Together, they laughed and joked all throughout the meal, even more than usual. They smiled when they ate, and as they talked, and even while clearing the table. Too soon, they went their separate ways.

For the first time, he felt something close to comfort in knowing another person. Somebody made him feel interesting, and special. The inclination was certainly mutual.

Well, with the newfound appreciation for his friend buzzing about his brain, spending the day alone seemed a far cry from the best scenario for their free day in the mindscape. So, after a tirade of completely-unsuccessful hours of staring at the pages, he finally bounced up, tossed the book haphazardly over his shoulder and hastened into the hallway.

 _"Good evening, Patton,"_ Logan thought inside his head, walking briskly through the halls of the mind, _"This morning, when you acquired your burn; the circumstance alarmed me, greatly. I've had time to reflect on the matter, and have come to the conclusion that, despite not fully-realizing such for many years, you are an exemplary, wonderful person. I enjoy being in your presence, and deeply respect you, much more than I had previously envisioned. Would you like to work out a situation in which we are together much more frequently? I would definitely be inclined to that scenario, if you are likewise amenable."_

Practically skipping by his standards and incredibly lost in thought as he rounded the corner, it shouldn't have been a surprise when he ran into someone.

They grunted, and both fell to the ground, landing with identical thudding noises.

His glasses had fallen, Logan reaching for them as he spoke towards a dark blur sitting across him. "My sincerest apologies, I wasn't paying-" The person across from him came into focus as he slid the frames back up his nose. "Oh, hello Virgil?"

The other side had fallen, without grace, like himself. However, much differently than him, Virgil wore a semiformal blazer and dress pants, and a shirt of that particular shade of purple. His skin popped against the darkness. All in all, he looked very nice.

Virgil followed Logan's gaze, realizing in an instant. "Yeah I know, the getup is kind of a lot. Wasn't my choice, trust me." He stood, extending a hand. With the pose and the suit, he looked like a shadow version of Roman.

Accepting the help, Logan got to his feet and dusted himself off. "Nonsense, you appear rather..." He reached for his vocabulary cards before realizing he'd forgotten them. "...spiffy."

Virgil's eyes narrowed. "What's got you in such a good mood?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I _mean_ ," he rolled his eyes, "I've never heard you say 'spiffy' before. What's your damage?"

Logan didn't have to consider his answer long, cracking a tiny grin. "I must admit, there's a certain person who's been on my mind lately. I was just on my way to secure a different, improved relationship between the two of us."

Virgil's eyes widened. "You...wait, what are you saying here, did you find one on you? How long have you known?" He said in an undertone, a smile of his own blooming hesitantly over his face.

Logan scrunched his eyebrows, dropping his smile somewhat in place of a raised eyebrow.

The glee in Virgil's voice twisted into an anxious frown, hands balling in place of where his hoodie pockets would usually be. "Fuck, I shouldn't have said that."

Logan took a step closer. "What, is there some undesirable layer of secrecy I've been exposed to?"

Virgil nodded, trying not to look his friend in the eyes, fingers clasping through his already-pale knuckles.

"Do you wish for me to keep this between us?" He asked sincerely. Though the curious part of him ached to know, Logan valued his friends' comfort more; he could 'take this to the grave', if such became a requirement.

"Nah," Virgil sighed, "it's probably better that we all know. I'm pretty sure you're the last to find out, unless Princey hasn't looked at himself in a mirror for two days, which I doubt, somehow." He snickered, regaining his composure.

He still didn't understand, in fact he was more confused than ever, but he stayed silent, waiting for Virgil to continue.

"Okay, so...god, how do I put this...uh, hang on-" He broke off, stepping into the bathroom which they happened to be nearby, not bothering to shut the door, opening a cabinet. "This kind of thing is easier with a visual," he explained, voice raised over the sound of the faucet running.

When he returned, he held a towel in his hands, most of which he had moistened. "Give me a second; I put a _lot_ of this shit on today _."_ He said, then proceeded to scrub the living daylights out of his face.

Logan waited, silently admonishing how little gentility he put into removing the makeup.

He had indeed put on an exceptional amount, and Logan wondered how he hadn't noticed the difference before now. Virgil kept muttering things into the towel as he worked, like, ' _second time I've had to do this shit today_ ', and, ' _what'll my dermatologist say_ '.

It took a solid three minutes to remove most of the pale stuff from his face. And though his skin appeared flushed, Virgil did not look bad; much as he always refused to be seen without it.

He blanched. This ought to be be rather important to warrant Virgil breaking his lifelong devotion to keeping up his image.

Virgil looked up from the cloth, tossing his now damp bangs. It was a precious sight. If Logan wasn't in such a good mood he might consider taking a picture to use as blackmail.

"Okay, so...do you remember that one huge rant Princey used to shove down our throats? The one about romance, and all that jazz?"

Logan frowned. "Isn't that the primary topic of _every_ rant Roman goes on?"

"Well yeah," Virgil smiled, "but, I mean when Thomas was in, like, high school. The one about true love, and..." he trailed off as Logan's mouth fell open, eyes locked on a point on his forehead.

"So, uh. Yeah. It happened. I got a mark."

Logan's head reeled, conjuring the endless lectures and experiences from Thomas' and their, as his sides, youth. He never particularly payed them much thought, with Roman just being his fanciful self, spouting unrealistic expectations and outcomes as usual. That, and 'being in love' never came up as something which would be relevant in his life.

And now his good friend was in love. What a turn of events.

"...right. And it's black."

Virgil blushed, the lack of makeup highlighting his color tenfold. "Back off teach, it's not like I asked for it to happen." He grinned. "And it's easier for it to happen than you think."

Logan thought for a moment, gazing in wonder at the scar-like line. "Hm, perhaps. Who is it, then?" His mood darkened at an alarming pace, for reasons unbeknownst to him. "It's...it's not Patton, is it?"

A strange look marred Virgil, and he bit his lip before laughing. "No, of course it isn't."

Logan sighed heavily. "Oh, of course, it's Roman." _Good,_ is what he almost added. "You said I'm the last the find out. Does that mean you and Roman are now an item?"

"Not yet," he cast his gaze downwards, "he's had a lot on his mind lately, I'm not gonna make it worse for him."

Although intrigued, Logan didn't pry. "I don't believe the future love of your life would take it as a chore to receive confirmation of your mutual affection, but alright. I'll give my regards to the incident when I next confront him, and make sure he's alright."

Virgil nodded, a thoughtful twinkle dusting his eyes.

He cleared his throat, smile returning at the end of this strange, curious conversation, which he postponed researching to the back of his mind. "Is there anything else? If not, I'll be on my way; I'm headed to find Patton."

He waved him off. "Go ahead, you're cutting precious time from my afternoon sulk session."

A minute later and he arrived at Patton's door, which had been graffitied with more than one of each: selfies, containing Patton and friends, stickers of cats and dogs, 'but mostly cats, as they are his preference', Logan reasoned, and a large stencil P in the center, surrounded by glittery stars.

It was very hodgepodge, but everyone thought it endearing. He knocked pleasantly, careful to avoid hitting the craftsmanship with his knuckles.

Soon after, his playful companion greeted the door with a squinty smile, obscured by a highlighter clutched in his teeth. A pink pen sat behind his ear, and he held a clipboard tightly to his chest.

"Hiya! How's it-" he talked around the writing utensil as best he could until he saw Logan and took it out completely. "Well howdy stranger! How nice of you to come for a visit, do you want something?"

"Well," his heart pulsed as he looked down at his friend, "yes, in a sense. Would you perhaps have a discussion with me? I ensure you, it is of the utmost importance."

A crestfallen softness struck Patton, before brightening once again. "I mean, um, I'm actually a tiny bit busy with some of my work stuff-"

Logan raised his eyebrows, mouth parting in surprise. "How is that possible, I made certain to plan a free day for everyone! I'm positive I included you..." He insisted, stepping forward slightly.

Patton shushed, pulling him inside and shutting the door with his foot."Don't be silly, it's okay, I'm just doing a little extra work right now is all!" He held his chin in his palm. "How bout this: you can hang out in here while I finish up this one project. I kind of need to concentrate though, can you keep yourself busy, for like an hour?"

He pushed him delicately onto the edge of the bed, making him sit before heading back to his desk. "Promise, just sit tight and then I'm all yours."

Looking around the cluttered room, Logan didn't hesitate to wander, eventually picking up a book. He stared at the cover, unimpressed, and sat back onto the edge of the bed.

The book was somewhat interesting, but not particularly capturing his attention at the moment. He flopped around on the blankets, trying to get comfortable. This ended with him on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, laying partially under the messily-strewn blankets.

In his book, the endless rows of words got further and further away as he tried to comprehend their meaning. He was bored and drowsy, so he set the book aside with a huff, reluctantly gazing around.

A scratching noise, followed by the clacking of a keyboard filled his ears, and Logan looked up to see Patton, hard at work, as he had been since he got here.

Patton's body of work led far from his own area of expertise, and Logan for one found it fascinating to watch. He wrote with an intense speed, handwriting illegible. It must've made sense to him, however, humming cheerfully as he flipped through the papers, colorful ink sprawled across every page.

He held a new utensil in his mouth now, a pen, rather than a highlighter. Being much thinner, he could now swish the object between his lips, moving it slowly from side to side, letting it hang precariously from, then switching it's placement once more. Occasionally, he would reach his hand upwards to hold it, biting and curling his tongue around the end as he stroked the base with the pad of his thumb, never stopping as he wrote on and on...

Logan jumped as something cold hit his arm, looking down to see he had salivated on himself. Confused, blushing, and embarrassed, he wiped the drool off his arm as inconspicuously as he could, burying his head into his arms to hide his reddening face.

He didn't dare emerge until he was sure his skin tone had normalized. Several minutes passed, and he kept his head in his arms for safekeeping, peeking up to become entranced in the spectacle again.

After a while, his eyes had started to droop closed, a yawn clawing at his throat begrudgingly.

Patton's dad-sense flared. "Don't fall asleep Lo, or you won't be able to tonight." He advised, smiling over his shoulder.

"Of course I won't," Logan muttered stubbornly, turning his head to rest on his arms and sinking deeper into the mattress, still getting a decent view of his friend. Patton's bed was, to his enormous disadvantage, much comfier than his had ever been.


	9. Us

When they found themselves back under the protection of the dense trees, there wasn't any more use to be had of their umbrella.

The beautiful forest, mystical and lively not twenty minutes ago, had turned ashy and dark, the air damp in the rain. A drop hit them occasionally, breaking past the leaves and branches high above, succeeding to fall among a thousand others. Anything to see in the relentless dark was gray, and dim. 

The quiet smothered. Virgil thought he might jump out of his own skin with the social pressure now set upon his shoulders: Is he supposed to make conversation? Does he not question the fact that he, unknowingly, participated in a funeral?

He pondered everything, noticing how much less joy he felt listening to the leaves crunching, their off-roading much less of an adventure now.

"I'm sorry," is what he ended up settling for, keeping his voice soft as the near-silence reigned. 

_'Yeah, that's okay,'_ he reasoned, nodding silently to himself in the dark, _'Very ordinary; understanding.'_

A minute passed. 

"...It's alright. Thank you, for your sympathies." Roman said, evenly. 

He swore he could see the kind, ever-present nature of the prince's eyes despite the gloom of the surroundings.

They kept walking.  
  
  


His mind wandered, rather unhelpfully. _'He doesn't look as...sad as he did earlier. Something's not right, should I...?'_

With each step, curiosity snapped at him like a rabid dog. Clearing his throat hesitantly, he broke the silence as tactfully as he could. "I, uh, don't mean to be insensitive, or disrespectful to the dead or anything, but..."

Roman looked inquisitively at the well-dressed man beside him, a smile blooming on what he could see of his face.

He shivered, his nerves firing. "Are...are you really going through so much grief about her?" 

The prince made no objection, still grinning as Virgil tried glancing to see if he needed to shut up. 

"I mean, obviously, you knew who she was. And yeah, you're in a lot of anguish about feeling like it's your fault how things were between you two for the longest time, which is total bullshit by the way, because you were her nemesis for crying out loud-"

They had stopped walking. Virgil, though intent in his rant, spotted fireflies.

"It doesn't make sense for you to put yourself through so much over something like a rivalry; you were both just doing it for fun, and to pick on each other. It's nothing you should be so ashamed of...so is there something else?" He concluded, frantic that he'd just crossed a line.

...

If Roman was about to smack him, judging by the excruciating pause, Virgil wouldn't blame him. _'Undermining a person's feelings in grieving the death of a friend; that's a new low even for you.'_

Instead he heard a low hum. Opening his eyes to the black forest, he could see Roman's faint outline. Small bursts of yellow-green light would flicker around them, illuminating a sliver of his handsome suit before flying elsewhere.

And indecent as it was to notice now, Virgil realized again how incredible Roman looked in that suit. Hell, _any_ suit would probably work as far as he was concerned; but this one was dark, so unlike the usual white-and-gold. All-black, fitted to perfection, blending perfectly with their surroundings...then again, he wore his usual outfit for a reason. It made him look absolutely regal, in more ways than one.

Either were good; all of the above, please.

Roman took a long time to compose his thoughts, thankfully sparing Virgil the time to stop daydreaming and get the dazed look off his face. 

The prince nodded slowly, almost shamefully, before speaking. "You are...mostly right. I've been tremendously guilt-ridden since she told me of her death, and not just because of her. Come on," he motioned for them to keep walking, "We're not far from the path. I'll tell you as everything as we go."

Virgil couldn't believe he'd been right. Catching up to Roman, who'd started walking again, he tried giving his complete and utter attention.  
  
  


The light started to filter back in through the trees, leaves becoming less and less scattered on the ground, the dirt leading to the trail becoming more legible as they went.

"Alright, well," Roman sighed, "I'll explain. See, the upcoming death of the Dragon Witch had been startling, for many reasons. Of course I was destined to feel guilty, and learn she was actually good of heart, and what have you," he waved his hand dramatically through the air.

"But what I had not anticipated was myself. I looked back, years and years ago, some from before you were even around." He looked at Virgil significantly.

Virgil looked back with confused eyes; what did _he_ have to do with this?

"I...am not proud of who I was, back then." He glanced away. "Since a measly few years ago, I never treated you like anything other than a villain. Before then I antagonized Logan much more than he deserved, and-"

He cut his sentence clean as they became exposed under the blinding light of the kept forest path. The smooth dirt felt nicer on the soles of their nicer, harder-to-walk-in shoes. Glancing at one another, they set off down the road.

"...For my entire life, I have been blinded with pride, and idealistic glory." Roman said. "It has taken me entirely too long to realize it, and I am in great pain knowing how my insensitivity has affected my loved ones. And it's cruel, that it takes something extreme as death to remind me what I am making of life."

He didn't cause any sort of an uproar within his voice or posture; he carried a weight. Refusing to look his friend in the eye, Roman stared listlessly into the clouds above, the view of the beautiful dusk sky covered by the shadowy treetops.

Virgil brought them to a halt in the middle of the road, carefully taking Roman's gloved hands in his own. 

Roman snapped his head down to look at him, panic and tears in his eyes, as if he were going to flee at any moment.

He enveloped Princey's trembling hands, gazing deeply into his eyes with all the warmth he possessed. "You know none of us blame you for anything, right?" He said quietly, voice resonating in the abrupt stillness.

Roman's tears began to fall, and his hands trembled.

Virgil tried to steady them, clutching them more firmly between his. "We don't hold the past against you, Princey. You've changed and learnt from your mistakes, and you're certainly not the only one." He paused. "I screwed up too. It's in the past, and we... _I_ , forgive you."

Instead of calmed down at this comforting statement, Roman appeared wrought with worry and grief.

"But, you...you don't know something I did, I," He sniffed, "I did something completely despicable! Worse than any villain, all in the effort to keep my accursed image, or, as I have recently discovered, my ill-disguised vanity." 

Venom on his lips, Roman tore his eyes away from Virgil with a disgusted scowl. He didn't move his hands.

Virgil paled, unease rising in the pit of his stomach, doubt edging past his comforting aura. "Oh, Roman, what have you done?"

The prince hesitated, biting his lip and keeping his watery eyes fixed to the ground. "I made such a foolish mistake, I-I would take it back if I could...you must believe me, Virgil, I-"

"Roman. Whatever this is might suck to admit, I get it, but we can't start addressing it until you tell me what happened."

"I..." He glanced up to lock eyes with Virgil, small and ashamed. "I made a deal. With her." He nodded in the direction of where they had just left, to the now-vacant house and the grave resting in the backyard.

"You..." Virgil's expression went blank, letting his hands fall. "You made a _deal-_ "

"It's a rather complicated issue," Roman said, wiping a tear from his face, "and I feel absolutely wretched about the whole thing, but-"

"But she didn't curse you right?"

"Well, no, I-"

"So none of us are in any danger." He confirmed, scrutinizing the man in front of him.

"Excuse me Mister Hellebore, not all issues have to be life-and-death to be important! It's simply atrocious what I did," Princey defended.

Virgil rolled his eyes, missing the rising annoyance in Roman's face, how flushed his cheeks were becoming. "You just took me to a funeral _._ How bad could this 'deal' possibly be compared to that?" He deadpanned.

"Well, I fell in love with you, for a start," Roman muttered under his breath, "Is that bad enough for you?"

All the sarcasm and coolness left Virgil. He stared at Roman, unblinking, Roman staring back with nothing but resignation and faint grumpiness.

His mouth felt dry, his throat constricted. _'What the hell, Princey?! Is this -really- the best time?!'_

"Oh, wow, okay, uh-" Virgil coughed, heart clawing it's way up his trachea. "You, um, wanted to bring this whole thing up now? I mean, I was gonna wait a few weeks...or months...to talk about it because of the...you know...death," He fake-laughed, trying to ebb the tension with humor.

The forest chose then to become ear-gratingly quiet.

This might be the most awkward situation he's ever gotten himself in. 

Princey's exhaustion shifted into confusion, his head quirking to the side. "What...what do you _mean_ , you were 'going to bring it up'?"

He dodged the question, giving the prince his own confused look. "What do _you_ mean, 'for a start'?"

Roman huffed and kicked his foot through the dirt, getting dust on his nice dress shoes. He glared contemptuously at them before speaking. "Isn't it clear? I got rid of it. I asked her to remove them from our memories, and everything about them. Because I couldn't stand how it felt on my skin, how-" He glanced quickly up at Virgil, blushed, then continued staring at the ground, "how unloved, and, and... _unworthy_ I felt."

Virgil opened his mouth to question again what the hell he was talking about, when the truth fell into place.

"...It was red, then?"

Roman sniffed, not taking his eyes off his shoes, and Virgil took this as confirmation. And he remembered something, again, from years ago. Black marks symbolize requited love, while red mean the opposite.

He took a moment to drink in his poor, delusional prince. Regret shone in his tears, his hair unkempt because of how little he must've taken care of himself over the past few days. Yet he still looked perfect, his skin clear and radiant as ever. Roman would look very strange in his prince costume now; he wasn't in a state to protect or serve anyone. Silent tears continued to pour down his face.

Virgil took a step closer, lifting his chin. When Roman faced him, Virgil could see how bloodshot his eyes were once more. He wiped away the tears, holding the imperfect prince's gloved hands in his again.

Princey didn't blush, but gave a look of both comfort and great pain.

"Roman," Virgil said, "You made a mistake. Just like we all did when we were younger. And even if it might complicate things now, or be different than whatever what would've happened if you hadn't acted at all...there's so much we can do with what we have now. And if bad things come of this, we can work through them, together. As long as we recognize the obstacles at hand, and face them head-on. It _will_ be okay."

He let their hands fall, and wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug.

It lasted a long, long time. 

Roman pulled back slowly, keeping his arms intertwined on Virgil's back, looking the dark angel in the eye. They were face-to-face, noses almost touching, gazing into each-other's very souls. The sheer ambience and chemistry was a magnet, the world around them darkening by the minute.

Virgil's voice lowered to a whisper, his half-lidded eyes never wavering from the prince. "Am I supposed to tell you how much you mean to me," He purred, adoration softening every word, "or did you want some kind of proof, Princey?"

This time, Roman had the strength to blush, powerful shades of red and pink flooding into his cheeks. It was absolutely beautiful.

' _He_ is absolutely beautiful,' Virgil reminded himself.

"I...think I get it now," Roman's register dropped, "Love isn't something that needs proof. It only takes work, and patience from everyone involve. If I hadn't gotten rid of my mark, it would not have changed my views of who you were at the time, or who I was. Love isn't magic, or a mark, it's..." He struggled, desperately searching for the perfect words and coming up empty-handed.

Virgil placed his hand on Roman's cheek, and swore he could feel the prince melting under his touch. He smiled. "You shouldn't know all the answers when it hasn't even started yet."

Princey's eyes widened, a childlike-smile growing on his face. "It hasn't?"

Grinning, Virgil unraveled the prince's arms from his torso, taking his hand in his own. "No, it really hasn't."

And, smiling, he lead them out of the Imagination.


	10. Good Morning

Logan felt warmer than he had in years, in a literal sense. His bed gave in to his weight much more than the norm, and the air smelled musky and sugary, like sweetbread. Every inch of him was wrapped comfortably in a puffy, heavenly blanket, or duvet, or...something. His brain worked slowly through what must have been the fuzz of a dream.

Another thing, warm and drowsy like him, was wrapped around him. 

He couldn't bear to open his eyes. With the littlest effort he could muster, he pushed himself backwards and received an even greater sense of comfort, cradled against the source of heat behind him.

Strong arms pulled him impossibly closer, holding him and releasing a puff of air over his ear. The person's chin nuzzled into the top of his head.

Turning ever-so slightly to take in their identity, Logan opened his eyes to see Patton. 

He stretched, sighing as his legs entangled further with his friend's, thanking the stars for the wonder of the human brain: he never dreamt, not ever, but when he finally managed to it was the single grandest thing with his absolute favorite person.

They lay together in this seemingly-endless harmony.

Patton yawned and kissed the top of his head as if it was completely natural, eliciting a heavy smile from Logan. Slowly, almost reverently, he left a trail of these kisses down his head and to the back of his neck, shifting down in the bed and untangling their limbs but making up for the lost contact by gently caressing Logan's cheek, muttering sweet nothings between every kiss.

Logan turned himself over so that he was facing Patton, impatiently taking both sides of Patton's face in his hands and crushing his lips into Patton's, melting as he felt Patton reciprocate with the softest and kindest of pressures, holding his hands to Logan's chest, grabbing lightly at his shirt and beginning to undo the buttons.

'This,' He thought, biting his lip to keep from whining when Patton spotted his jaw with a feather light kiss, then another, 'This is the most incredible feeling, dreaming or otherwise...if I'm later rejected, it will clearly be an incredible loss-'

Patton then took the moment to travel down and, without warning, bit down on the side of Logan's neck.

This time Logan couldn't control the moan that escaped him; his neck had always been sensitive. 

With labored breaths, his body incredibly-aware of the situation, he heard himself plead, eyes closed in a state of utmost bliss. "Patton, _please_...!"

But he didn't feel anymore kisses, or bites, or anything. He looked down, distraught, an absolute mess from what had barely started.

Patton had stopped, disconnected from Logan's neck. He was staring up at him now, sleep in his eyes and drowsiness in his voice. "Logan?"

Logan wasn't sure which way this dream was headed as he laid in wanting, an insurmountable, desperate need to continue their activities pooling in his gut. "Patton, why...yes? Did you need something?"

His friend's face suddenly turned very red. "Logan...hey, uhm, I don't want to make this weird or anything, but," he laughed nervously, blushing further at the sight of Logan, whose hair was unkempt, parts of his neck quite a few shades darker than before, "I kinda...thought I was asleep? Just now?"

Blinking repeatedly, the edges of Logan's vision were getting clearer and clearer, less hazy. He slowed down his breathing in a real attempt to concentrate, looking down at Patton in confusion. "What? But I thought I...was..."

His eyes widened, realization hitting him and making his jaw drop. "Oh, oh I'm not...oh, my goodness, Patton I didn't-" He stammered, sitting up in a useless attempt to compose himself.

When he sat up however he quelled at the view of Patton's room. He was sitting in Patton's bed, and still fully-clothed besides the few buttons on the top of his shirt.

He looked back to Patton for some context, who shrugged in a non-accusatory manner, nervous and apologetic as he spoke. 

"Hey, listen. I was working when you decided to come here late last night, and you fell asleep in my bed. I was gonna wake you up, or move you, but it was so late, and I was tired, and you looked comfortable so I just, uh.." he smiled innocuously, sitting up and scooching away, "I just laid down, too. But, we, uhm, we weren't touching or anything when I fell asleep, I swear!"

Logan tried to swallow past his constricting throat, the idea of even looking at Patton, who was also completely clothed, practically sinful. "I don't know why I thought I was dreaming," he snorted, reflecting onto himself with disdain. 

Patton deliberated, then laughed stiffly. "I know exactly why I thought I was dreaming...but I can never hear you in my dreams. So when I heard you say..."

The pair looked away from each other. 

"When you made that noise, when I bit your..."

Logan huffed, still tired and unsure when he said, "If you want to keep talking about it, can we just continue?" Patton's eyes shot open at Logan's words, shocked and eager, but Logan shook his head wildly. "Wait, no, that's not what I meant! What I meant was I-" He balled his hands in his lap. "I came here last night, to ask if we could be closer."

Patton cocked an eyebrow, pondering Logan's ambiguous request. "Lo, what do you mean by, 'closer' ? Because I think I've already given you a clue about how much 'closer' I'd like us to be. Is that the sort of thing you'd like, or do you need something different? Please tell me, I'm dying to find out."

"I do really want what we were doing, but that's not the extent to which I came here yesterday. Mostly I just wanted to tell you that I..." he stumbled, trying hard to get this perfect. "I wanted to tell you how unbelievable of a person you are, and how appreciative I am each time I'm in your presence, and how afflicted I feel when I'm not. I want to establish a closer connection with you, whether that's physical or not. I will take everything you have to give. Patton, you are my favorite person, and I love you deeply."

Patton beamed, shifting on the bed to sit in front of Logan, taking his balled, in-confident hands in his own. "If you had said that years ago, my answer'd be the exact same. I don't think I can tell you how long I've wanted hear you say anything like that."

Logan stared at their hands in awe, until he saw the bandage still wrapped around Patton's right hand. He moved his hands to delicately hold Patton's bandaged one, eyes downcast. "It took me too long to realize the ways I idolize and respect you. I was a wreck, for example, when I thought you'd hurt your hand..."

"Funny you should mention that," Patton laughed, eyes crinkling at the edges. He took his hand and unwrapped it without caution, throwing a clean bandage to the floor and presenting the hand to his partner.

At first Logan wanted to look away, because Patton had been adamant that he not see it before now. But a lot of strange things had happened today; he deserved to solve a mystery. Examining the back of the hand he found nothing. 

Then on Patton's palm, he clearly saw it- a large black line, reaching over the expanse of his large hand. 

"Is this a...?" Logan questioned, a sort of blossoming happiness in his chest as he looked into Patton's eyes, which were bright as he nodded.

"Do you have one? On your face, or hands, or?" He trailed, looking excitedly around Logan's exposed skin.

"I-" He faltered, "I don't know. I should? But I've never seen one on me before."

"Well I suppose..." Patton yawned, popping the cracks out of his spine as he spoke with the most casual of tones, "I could help you look." Patton smiled devilishly at Logan and hopped out of bed, extending his hand containing the love scar atop his right palm. "But first, we're both going to need some breakfast. Help me, won't you?"


End file.
